


don't be so shy (with your stockings up to your thighs)

by acidveins



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Harry in Panties, M/M, Mild Angst, Not really tbh, Phone Sex, Public Sex, Riding, Rimming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1805239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidveins/pseuds/acidveins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> Harry doesn’t try them on, but Zayn buys them anyway. And after a week of being ignored by Louis, except for the occasional call, Harry decides fine. <i></i></i><br/> <br/><i> Fine. <i></i></i></p><p>Harry is Louis' new secretary. He may or may not want his boss between his legs. There are stockings in there somewhere. au.<br/> </p>
            </blockquote>





	don't be so shy (with your stockings up to your thighs)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unshipping](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unshipping/gifts), [decadent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/decadent/gifts).



> This is a little present put together very quickly for [Hannah](http://www.unshipping.tumblr.com/) and [Mirjam](http://www.letthemkissyou.tumblr.com/). Thank you both for always shining brighter than mood dust. And Paula - you wanted poetry, I gave you porn.
> 
> NOTE : I forgot to add this earlier, and I am very sorry for missing out on it, but there is a scene where Louis starts to spank Harry without previous negotiation, as a form of punishment. I have tagged this as dubcon because though Harry isn't opposed to anything Louis does, there isn't any talking, any agreement, or any safeword that had been mutually agreed upon. Basically – they both do things without asking for permission from each other, but none of it is unwanted and/or considered a form of harassment. Sorry for tagging this so late and I am sorry if this has harmed/triggered you in any way. That is not the intention of this fic. 
> 
> Very hastily self edited, so all mistakes are my own. I don't own anything/anyone. 
> 
> Enjoy ♥

On Harry’s first day, he doesn’t meet Mr Tomlinson.

-

The office building is snazzy, tall. It cowers in the central business district of London and everyone inside feels fast and happening. They walk and they move and Harry is left standing alone wondering what to do. He’s in his newly washed shirt and a smart pair of trousers and he feels like a kid, walking into his dreams with his heart tucked under his sleeves, buried between his skin. 

He waits around the lobby, careful not to be too loud, to draw too much attention, and just when he feels like he should speak up, a boy with blond hair and eyes looking like the first moon in December comes to find him and Harry looks at him like he’s important. Everyone here is important and Harry hopes he can get to be part of _everyone_ as well. 

“Harry Styles?” he asks, grinning broad and happy. Harry wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Maybe a thunder of movements, a wash of people to flush him away, but he gets a boy who wears a white shirt and long trousers and he’s so boyishly handsome Harry nearly flushes. 

“Yes, hi,” he replies, fingers twiddling in anticipation as he stands in the lobby of the office, feeling out of place as people - important looking people - work past him. First real, actual job, he reminds himself. Out of the bakery, he’s allowed to feel a little nervous. 

(A _little_ nervous.)

“Hi, I’m Niall,” Niall says, raising a hand. “Let me take you to your table.”

-

“Mr Tomlinson is actually away right now, at Paris for a meeting, but he’ll be here tomorrow,” Niall says as he guides Harry to the 21st floor. There are people dancing their way around the office, picking up papers and picking up titles. Harry says dancing because they move so fast, Harry can’t quite catch all their moves. “He’s left some papers he needs you to type up, so you can just start with that.” Now he feels like a kid being taken to school on his first day. People stare at him, spare a significant second to wonder who’s that? And he just passes by, making his way to the place he’ll be in for the rest of the year. Or however long he can sustain the job.

Niall leads them to the end of a long, empty hallway and everyone else sat just at the corner of it. When they reach Harry’s desk, a folder sits patiently on the table and there’s a computer being charged in front of it. Beside Harry’s table, just a little ahead, there’s a dark door that stays shut. 

“Mr Tomlinson’s office is just in there,” Niall nods at the door, “and he prefers tea over coffee, Yorkshire, milk but no sugar every morning, then once after lunch break. Goodluck, Harry.” And he’s off, walking back down the hallway and Harry stands feeling alone and small and so confused because _fuck_ and _great_ and _oh no._  

-

On Harry’s second day, he meets Mr Tomlinson for the first time and he can’t breathe properly, he’s so nervous. 

He gets to the office ten minutes early just to prepare his boss’s tea properly and there’s a man there with him as he makes the tea. 

“Hello,” Harry greets him. The man looks up from his phone, flashes Harry a smile, and gives Harry only a glimpse of his face before turning back to his phone, one hand stirring his cup. It's enough though because Harry sees his gorgeous face and he thinks, no, not a man, but not exactly a boy. He also starts to wonder what Mr Tomlinson’s like. Probably really smart, but hopefully not a prick. He did get someone else to interview Harry for him, so. 

Harry makes the tea, then brings it up to his desk. He tries not to worry about it becoming cold and he boosts his laptop, reading through the typed up letter he had finished yesterday when he hears someone walking and he looks up and oh shit.

It's Mr Tomlinson. It can’t _not_ be Mr Tomlinson and fuck fuck fuck fuck. “Morning,” Mr Tomlinson says because it's him, Harry knows. He swallows because this is not good at all. “Hi,” he squeaks, digging his fingernails into his palm when Mr Tomlinson frowns at him. 

“Harry, right?” he asks, but before Harry can say anything he’s speaking on. “I need the papers from yesterday, and I’ve got a few more from my meeting. Bring my tea and the papers into my office and I’ll give you the new ones.” And then he’s gone behind the dark, oak doors and Harry’s left breathing heavily because fuck.

Mr Tomlinson is bloody gorgeous and Harry isn’t sure how he’s going to work properly now.

-

He knocks on his boss’s door before entering, one hand holding tea, the other holding the file. He hears Mr Tomlinson’s voice, slow behind the door telling him to come in and when he steps inside, Mr Tomlinson isn’t looking at him, just at his computer. The office is beautiful and rich, tall windows lighting up the bookshelf and the table and the lounge chairs. 

“Hi, um,” Harry stutters. “I’ve got your tea and papers, Mr Tomlinson, I could just-”

“Bring them here for me,” Mr Tomlinson says without looking up, voice dismissive. Okay, Harry’s got this, he’s fine. He’s just never seen a man so fucking hot before. But he’s fine. Mr Tomlinson looks important sitting on his desk. He wears a suit and he’s got these ridiculous glasses on and his hair is pushed back and formal. He also has a scruff that looks about two days old and the desk he sits by is so big and rich looking that Harry wants Mr Tomlinson to fuck him over it. Which. Okay. 

“Right, of course,” he mumbles, walking closer, trying not to spill anything. It's just - he feels so inadequate compared to his boss. Because where Mr Tomlinson stands firm and gorgeous, Harry’s stuttering over his words. He’ll probably be shaking as he types out Mr Tomlinson’s words as well. 

“Anything else?” he asks, clasping his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heel. Mr Tomlinson looks up at him then, eyes sharp and cutting, starting past Harry’s smooth skin and past his young curls that fall prettily over his eyes. He blinks uninterestedly at Harry and Harry does his best not to _whimper_ because Mr Tomlinson probably hates him already or something. 

“Yes, I need a few more documents typed up. Most are from my meeting yesterday,” he says, opening a drawer and pulling out some neat papers. “Also, I know you started yesterday and all, but do expect a few calls coming in a little later today. Unless their name is H. Morris, I want them all canceled or ignored, alright?”

“Yes, of course, alright,” Harry nods, maybe a little too quickly. He’s got this strange urge to please his boss, make him proud, almost and it's - it's not too surprising. Harry’s always been a people pleaser. It's just that Mr Tomlinson look at him with expectations, almost questioning his ability, so he also needs to prove himself, in some ways. 

He takes the papers and he steps out the door. Even just sitting at his table, he feels a little nervous with the knowledge Mr Tomlinson is on the other side of the door.

-

The gorgeous man from the day before with the phone has a name. And it's equally as gorgeous as his face - Zayn. 

Zayn works on Harry’s floor, two rights away from the hallway that leads to Harry’s desk and Mr Tomlinson’s (or Louis’... it's french) office and he’s nice and all, but like, super observant because by the second week, he’s figured out Harry’s... dilemma. Hot boss dilemma. 

“Y’know, Harry,” he says one lunch. They’re sat at a cafe downtown and Niall was with them just ten minutes ago till he left early to start his shift. “Louis is probably the fittest bloke in our office.” And Harry nearly chokes on his roast chicken.

“Hm?” he squeaks and watches as Zayn watches him with this smirk. It's a small smirk, knowing, but it makes Harry blush to no ends. 

“Like, it's fact, right? Liam’s a close second, but anyone can tell, Louis is on top.” There’s so many meanings behind that one sentence that Harry actually kicks his legs to stop from blatantly agreeing.

“I mean,” he clears his throat. “I guess? It's like - he’s nice.”

“He’s nice,” Zayn clarifies, voice louder. “I’m sure his dick is nice, too.”

This time Harry doesn’t choke. No, this time he sighs.

-

But Zayn won’t leave it alone. 

He watches carefully as Harry hurries and busies himself everyday, trying and trying to please and keep his boss happy and every time Mr Tomlinson asks for another tea and Harry’s rushing past Zayn’s desk, there's a little smile being thrown around and it goes on for about a month till Zayn calls him out on it.

It's early, one autumn morning, and Zayn and Harry are at the lunchroom . Zayn watches as Harry makes two mugs of tea - one for himself, full of sugar, no milk, and one for his boss - completely the opposite. 

“So,” Zayn sighs. “Have you asked him out yet?”

Harry turns around to face Zayn, eyebrow raised. “Who?” and then, “what?”

“Louis,” Zayn says. “Have you asked your boss to dinner, or to, I dunno, bed yet?”

Harry flushes, but when is he not red and blushing? “No- no!” he mutters, dead ducked. “Of course not - he’s my... my boss, I can’t do that.”

Zayn crosses his arms and leans back on his chair. “And why not?”

“Because,” Harry starts. “Because.”

“Harry-”

“He might say no, for one. No, he _will_ say no. And that will makes things like, super awkward, professionally, and I’m already scared as fuck around him, so - no. I can’t.” There’s this bitterness in his voice, a sense of sadness because as much as he can’t, he so, so wants to. 

-

“Harry, I don’t think you understand, I need you to focus on your job or you’re going to lose it,” Mr Tomlinson grumbles at Harry in his office with the windows bright and Harry’s head ducked. 

“I’m sorry, Mr Tomlinson, the letter came late and I-”

“I’m not after your excuses,” Mr Tomlinson sighs. “I need you to do your work properly. To the standard you promised when you came in for this job.”

When Harry fails to say anything, Mr Tomlinson stands up and Harry’s going to fall. He rests his palms flat on his desk and looks up at Harry from under his lashes. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, I-” Harry stutters, failing to meet his eyes. “I - yes. I do. I’m sorry.” Fuck, he failed. He’s let his boss down and he’s completely useless. 

“Good,” Mr Tomlinson sighs. “Some important calls are coming in today, and I can’t have you messing them up, alright?”

“Yes,” Harry nods. “Alright.”

When Harry makes his way out of the room, he flops on his chair and closes his eyes. For a minute, he just breathes because he feels as if he’s been running, and then he calls Zayn’s table number.

“Hello, Zayn Malik speaking, how can I help you?”

“My boss hates me,” Harry wails, but quietly into the phone and he hears a noise of confusion from Zayn’s part, till he can feel Zayn roll his eyes at him.

“What are you on about, Harry?”

“I fucked up with this letter, right? And Louis calls me in and he was just yelling at me about losing my job or something, I dunno, and he’s so... he’s so. I’m going to start crying just by looking at him, I can’t handle this job.”

“You are such a drama queen, you know that?” Zayn chuckles from the other end.

“Zayn!” Harry cries. “Crisis! What do I do?”

There’s a beat of silence till Zayn says, “Stay back after work today. We’re going shopping.”

-

“No,” Harry snaps when Zayn hands him the packet. “No.”

Zayn just looks at him while Harry looks at the packet and then he sighs. “Harry, they’re just stockings-”

“And you’ve picked up a skirt!” Harry accuses. 

“Yes, congratulations. I have. Now will you please go try them on?”

-

Harry doesn’t try them on, but Zayn buys them anyway. And after a week of being ignored by Louis, except for the occasional call, Harry decides fine. 

Fine.

-

The stockings feel foreign and sticky on his skin, a lovely kind of scratch. He fiddles with the material, till he understands that they won’t change how they feel and he tugs at his skirt ever so often. God, he thinks, why did this seem like such a good idea yesterday?

Because the thing is - he can’t leave his desk. He’s tucked his shirt under his skirt and he’s got fucking stockings on so if he gets up, someone is bound to see him, hell, someone is sure to see him if they just pass the front of the hallway, so he has to very subtly, very quickly, find a entry into Mr Tomlinson’s room. But then what? Because fuck, he could get in, but Mr Tomlinson could just be staring at him. As if he was a complete freak trying, and failing, to... do something to get his boss and Jesus Christ, what was he thinking?

But it's too late now. It's too late cause he’s sat behind his desk and he’s spent like, an hour tugging the stockings on, and another hour last night shaving his legs, so he’s going to do this. Fuck. Yes. 

He bites his lip as lunch break ends and he knows Mr Tomlinson is still in his office and all he had to do was put the answering machine on and he could just slip in. He’s got his file from last night and it's so simple, yet he’s so nervous because what if he gets fired? What if Mr Tomlinson laughs at him? What if Mr Tomlinson isn’t even interested?

But then he gets a call and it feels like relief. He can do this, at least. 

“Harry?” the person from the other end - Mr Tomlinson, fuck - calls. “Could you come into my office for a minute? I’ve got something for you. Bring the files from yesterday as well, please.” And that's it. He could either try and change out of the stockings and into his pants in a matter of thirty seconds and make the excuse that he needed the toilet, or he could go in there right now and rock Mr Tomlinson’s world. 

The option is simple. He has to go in because he can’t change out of the damn material in thirty seconds. 

He picks up the folder, makes sure the hallway is clear before he stands up. His legs feel cool, almost nice, and the skirt rides up to his waist, exposing the clear, covered skin of his thighs and fuck he’s going to do this, he _is_. 

As he knocks on Mr Tomlinson’s door, he swallows the lump and the bile down his throat and pushes the hair out of his eyes. He’s seen himself with this on and he knows he look gorgeous. He _does_. He would fuck himself. He _would_. So, feeling fierce, he pushes into the room when he hears Mr Tomlinson grunt from the other side. 

The room is dark, curtains drawn, and Harry can barely make out Mr Tomlinson’s face in the dim lighting. Not that it mattered because Mr Tomlinson wasn’t even looking up. He was staring straight at his laptop, horrible for the eyes, Harry thinks, and he doesn’t even acknowledge Harry’s existence. Alrighty then. 

“Mr Tomlinson?” Harry calls. “I’ve got your files.” He tries to make his voice sound like a purr, sound alluring. It doesn’t work because Mr Tomlinson doesn’t look up - he just nods. 

“Bring it over, then,” he says, voice simply stern. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Harry’s so fucking nervous. He takes a deep breath and strides over to Mr Tomlinson’s table, leaning over with his arms resting on the wood to hand the file over to him. 

Mr Tomlinson takes it quickly and reaches for another folder. “I need you to fax this to Liam,” he says and Harry huffs because why won’t he look at him?

“Of course,” he says instead. When Mr Tomlinson holds out the folder for him, he brushes his fingers deliberately against Mr Tomlinson’s arm and nearly screams when he doesn’t react at all. When he stands around for another minute and Mr Tomlinson says and does nothing, he huffs again and turns around to walk out the door. How could he not’ve even noticed? He was wearing a skirt and stockings for god’s sake and his boss was too busy staring at some computer and what -

“Harry,” Mr Tomlinson gasps from behind, just as he reaches for the door and oh. 

_Oh_.

He turns around and there it is - Mr Tomlinson is staring, finally, at nothing but him, him, him. And _yes_. Yes because Mr Tomlinson is gaping and yes because Mr Tomlinson looks absolutely shaken, eyes crawling up and down Harry’s legs till they reach his face. “Harry,” he says again, this time his voice is lower and fuck, Harry wants him between his legs. 

But not yet. Not just yet. “I’ll have this faxed for you, Mr Tomlinson. Call me if you need anything else,” he sings as he walks out, a giggle at his step as he sways his hips and for once, Mr Tomlinson’s eyes are on nothing but his thighs and his arse and Harry can tell because the feeling is fantastic and beautiful and _there_. 

-

Mr Tomlinson doesn’t call all day and with every passing second, Harry feels himself deter. His get up has started to feel nice on his skin, something akin to familiarity, and as Harry absentmindedly runs his hands up and downs his legs while standing by the fax machine, he realizes that he should do this more often. Maybe wear the stockings under his pants - for himself. Because they’re starting to make him feel confident, beautiful. And if Mr Tomlinson doesn’t appreciate them, well, he himself sure does. 

And also, maybe the guy from downstairs who smiles extra brightly at Harry when they make eye contact in the lunchroom as well, because he’s sort of staring as he walks into the printing/faxing room. But Harry can’t blame him because this isn’t exactly what you see everyday. At least not at an office building. Especially not by the faxing machine. 

“Wait, wow, what-” he stammers and Harry sort of shrugs, sort of smiles apologetically before brushing past him. At least someone likes them, Harry thinks. Fuck Mr Tomlinson. Who even cares about what he thinks and how he reacts to his secretary wearing skirts, anyway?

When it's late enough for Harry to consider heading home and the realization that Mr Tomlinson isn’t going to call him at all settles, Harry takes initiative to call him up himself, his bag ready to be taken home, his legs bare of stockings, instead back into his trousers. 

The call rings once, twice, and then he hears him. “Yes?”

“Just wanted to let you know I’m heading home, Mr Tomlinson,” he says, a sigh somewhere in there. “The paper’s faxed and I’ve got your letter typed up and printed. I just need to proof read and I’ll have it ready by tomorrow.”

There's a long silence that settles bitterly, before Mr Tomlinson finally speaks up. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says and Harry’s just about to hang up, feeling dejected because he may or may not’ve wanted him to say something along the lines of _‘you looked absolutely, mind blowing in your skirt and dark stockings and I want to fuck you against a wall’_ but instead, he hears a low mumble of, “Are you still in your skirt?”

It feels illicit. Almost dangerously, deliciously wrong and Harry bites his lip to stop from moaning, he is so weak. “No,” he whispers before he takes all the courage he has to hang up instantly. 

-

 The next morning, Harry walks into work in his normal shirt and trousers, but the guy from downstairs, Fred, still asks him for a drink after work that day. He blushes when Fred jokingly mutters something about him in a dress, but tells Fred he’ll think about it and Zayn watches with this amused smile the whole time. 

When Harry makes it to the lift lobby, Zayn catches up to him and drags him to a dark, empty corner. “Fred might be cute, but he’s no Louis.” Harry knew it. Zayn’s always been team Tomlinson. 

“Yeah, but at least Fred asks me out for drinks and has the decency to say I look nice in a skirt,” Harry pouts, joking, but not really.

“That's cause Fred isn’t your boss, Haz,” Zayn grins. “But that means operation sexy secretary was go? You actually dressed up?”

“Don’t call it that,” Harry sighs. “But yes. Not that it worked though,” he says. “Or - not that it worked for the person we wanted it to work on. Does that make sense? I dunno, I’m not doing it again though. Move aside, I’m going to be late,” Harry mumbles, trying to budge past Zayn. 

“No, wait, why aren’t you doing it again?” Zayn whines, holding onto Harry’s arm, tugging him back. 

“Because it was absolutely ridiculous. And it didn’t work. Louis didn’t call me into his office _once_ after it.”

“But did you bring it again?” Zayn asks, ignoring Harry’s whines.

“I didn’t bring it home, left it in one of the drawers,” Harry sighs. 

“Okay, good,” Zayn grins. “Wear it again. And like, instead of chasing after him, let him come to you. Like, play lioness or something. Lure him in and cut him off. Also make him, I dunno, feel ignored?” Zayn bites his lip, thinking for a second and Harry thinks he has the right to laugh at him, this is so weird, but then Zayn lights up. “Subtly tell him Fred asked you out! Yes - _yes_. Do it. Go. Goodluck.” And then he’s shooing Harry away, smiling to himself like he’s accomplished something. Bastard. 

Harry tugs on his shirt as the lift rides up and he considers it. _Let him come to you_.

Fine.

-

Harry’s pulling the black stockings up his legs, bottom half of his body hidden by his desk as he struggles in the position when Liam comes walking down the hallway, towards Harry and fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Louis isn’t at work yet and Harry’s been trying to ignore the middle drawer because that's where he’s kept the garment, but he’s given in after thinking up the image, the thought of Louis’ hands trailing up his skirt, bare skin brushing his thighs. 

But with his trousers pooled by the floor and one leg half covered in the garment, the other bare under the desk, and Liam making his way to him, he thinks once again, what the fuck is wrong with me?

“Hey, Harry,” Liam greets as he walks up to his desk, oblivious as Harry pushes himself right up to his desk, trying his best to hide his legs. 

“Morning, Liam. How are you?” he goes for casual, but with his fidgeting, he must look at least a little weird. 

“Fine, thank you. Just wanted to let you know the document you faxed me yesterday? Yeah, I don’t think it was the right one, but I’ve got the reply letter ready, so if you’d come with me I could just give it to you-” Liam says, his thumb pointing to the elevators and oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

“Um, yeah, sure, I just - I need the toilet for just a second, Liam, if you don’t mind, I can come up to your office?” he says, shaking. One foot tugging the stocking down his legs so that he can at least attempt to find and pull on his trousers. 

“Oh, no problem. I’ll just wait here for you-”

“No!” Harry nearly yells, fuck. “No, ha, you don’t - you don’t have to do that. _I’ll_ find _you_ , it's fine. I... I think Zayn was looking for you actually,” he mutters, swallowing. “Yeah, he said something about a call from somebody named Lennon? I dunno-” he watches Liam’s face pale and he feels awful because he’s probably giving Liam anxiety over nothing. Lennon’s this guy that's been trying to make some deal with the company for forever and Harry’s sure that Liam’s the one who usually has to bat him away.

“Oh - oh shit, alright. I’ll just - I’ll hand it straight to Lou, it's fine. See you around, Harry.” And then he’s off and Harry’s reaching for the phone, calling Zayn, warning him and then, ironically enough, pulling the black stockings up mid-thigh, skirt going on just after. He sits still for a second, thinks how just a couple months back this would feel like something he’d never do, and when he looks back up and sees Louis walk down the hallway, eyes glued to his phone. As he comes closer, Harry watches as he tucks the phone into his pocket and looks at Harry.

“Morning,” he nods and Harry tries a smile, but it must look like a wince. “Do you have the letter you promised me?” Louis asks and Harry swallows, and stands up, skirt falling down, around his thighs gracefully. Louis’ eyes fall to them instantly and Harry does his best to keep breathing as he bends down to get the letter from his bag. 

“Yup,” he quirks, handing the file covered paper to his boss. Louis looks at it, then up at him and he’s about to say something, but Harry beats him to it. “Also, Mr Tomlinson, I was wondering if I could leave a little early today.”

He smirks when Mr Tomlinson raises his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Fred from downstairs asked me out for drinks later, and because I don’t really have anything better to do, I thought why not? I was just letting you know,” he says, sitting back down on his chair, looking up at Louis with fluttering eyelashes. “Mr Tomlinson?” he asks when Louis just stares at his hand still holding the file. 

When Louis looks up to meet his eye, Harry blinks rapidly at the harsh glow that settles in Louis’ eyes. His breathing staggers as he watches Louis take the file, movements rigid, as he nods and silently makes his way to his office room. 

Harry fiddles with the soft material of his thin skirt and contemplates whether he should call Zayn up to yell at him yet or not. 

-

Halfway through the day, Harry’s changed at least five times from his stockings to his trousers and, as predicted, they’ve torn by now. 

He sits on his chair, a little pout by his lips as he stares at the rip right by top. It's not - it's just a little weird because Harry’s never really considered walking around in thin garment that made him feel almost excitable; that gave him a rush because they looked good on his legs, good against his skin. 

“Have you ripped them?” someone asks and as Harry looks up, he sees Louis stand by his door, leaning against the frame. He’s wearing his glasses, tie loosely hanging off his collared shirt and Harry squeaks. 

“No,” he says quickly, pushing them into the drawer. “I mean yes, but, um, I’m sorry - I’ve - I’ll get your do-”

“I’ve got something for you,” Mr Tomlinson says lowly, his eyes trained on the way Harry fidgets in his seat. “Come into my office for a second?”

And does Harry have a choice?

He gets up slowly, trailing behind Mr Tomlinson and when he enters his office, Louis gently calls out, “Lock the door behind you.”

Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself as he stands in the middle of the room, watching Louis move towards his desk. He isn’t sure what Louis is on about, nor does he know what to say because he hasn’t really envisioned himself standing in Louis’ office without any legitimate reason, considering their terms. 

Louis rummages around his desks till he pulls out a simple bag, placing it on his desk as he sits back on his chair, hands coming up to rest behind his head, body lax and smirk loose, almost waiting; expecting. Harry isn’t sure if he should reach over to take it, or if he should stand where he is, he isn’t sure at all till Louis nods at the bag. “Go ahead. Said I had something for you, didn’t I?”

Harry inches closer to the desk, the air heavy in the room. He looks up at his boss, blinking at him carefully as he moves to pick up the bag, not breaking eye contact. He stares at Louis, not even bothering to look at what he’d gotten him, just knowing that it was there. 

_(“Instead of chasing after him, let him come to you. Like, play lioness or something. Lure him in and cut him off.”)_

He nods once, murmurs a soft, “Thank you,” before turning around and walking out the door.

It's when he’s sat on his desk, breathing slowly coming to a calm when he looks inside and sees a brand new, expensive pair of fishnet stockings with laced garters and black laced trimmed panties to match that Harry hits his head on the table and questions what the fuck.

-

He knows he can’t tell Zayn because Zayn’s going to get smug. Also, he values privacy. So he isn’t telling Zayn. Great. 

What does he do with the lingerie? 

At first, he shoves it to the back of his closet and doesn’t bring it out for at least a week. He tells Zayn operation stockings were a no go and he’s pretty sure Louis isn’t going to bring it up unless Harry decides to give up on public decency and show up to work in panties. 

So.

But then, after spending two weeks inside the closet, Harry reluctantly tugs the lingerie out, fingers shaking as he gingerly sets the bag on his bed. It's not intimidating as much as it is almost exciting because he’s never - he’s never felt it before. Lace brushing his skin, black and contrasting. And he surely hasn’t gotten it from someone as gorgeous as Louis. So when he takes his joggers off, legs clean and shaved from the shower, he pulls the panties up and past his thighs, tucking his cock neatly into the folds and he just stares at himself for a while. 

Once he’s got his skirt and fishnet stockings on, he thinks fine.

Fine.

-

It's on a Thursday. The sky outside is dark, loud, and Harry knows it's going to rain before it does, and he’s craving the feeling of silk wrapping his legs. Fine. If today’s the day he’s going to pounce, then let today be the day he’s going to pounce. 

He slips on his tightest dress shirt, white material stretching over his chest and he gets ready for work with a bounce in his step. Even when walking past Zayn to get to his table, Zayn looks up at him with an eyebrow raised, as if knowing something and questioning everything all the same. Harry just brushes past, bag heavier. He prepares Louis’ tea, gets the files for the day ready, and simply tugs his trousers off, his cock and arse already covered in the lacy undies that tickled his creases around his cock and skimmed the curves of his inner thighs. 

The fishnet hosiery was more delicate, more fine than the ones he wore before, and they felt rich and heavy in his hands. When he slipped them on, he felt Louis’ touch around him, could imagine him. Could almost feel his reaction to the sight of his legs and Harry’s lips curled at the thought. 

He felt prepared, armed with confidence and this simple grace that he didn’t have when he was just plain old Harry. So when he sees Louis walk down the hallway, suit clean and stapled, he stands up with a brilliant smile, one hand holding his tea, the other gripping his papers. 

“Mr Tomlinson,” he calls and when Louis looks up, face starting off confused, but ending with this gentle shock that made Harry’s heart soar, Harry grins as he takes a couple steps forward. “Good morning,” he finishes but he’s sure Louis isn’t listening because he’s watching, swallowing the image, struck silent and still and Harry’s nervous, almost scared, fingers fiddling, but he stands his ground, trailing the toe of his shoe up his patterned calf. 

“Uh, your tea?” he offers when Louis doesn’t say anything, just stares. “And, uh, your pa-” and he drops them, god damnit, so much for grace and composure. “Shit,” he mutters, setting the tea down and bending over to pick up the papers. He must look like an idiot - all bright and cheerful, dressed up out of the blue. When he stands back up, a dark red flush on his face, he can’t look up to meet Louis’ eye. “Your papers,” he stammers, holding them out.

He sees Louis’ hands reach out, but not for the papers, rather for Harry’s wrist and then Harry feels himself getting tugged towards Louis’ chest and he looks up with a gasp. “Lou-” he almost says, cutting himself of as he stares at his boss’s face. His boss’s very hard, very grim face. Shit, fuck, hell on fire.

“I’m sorry-” Harry starts and he isn’t even sure why, just knows that he has to. 

“Fuck, are those - these are the ones I bought for you, aren’t they?” Louis growls, this deep groan coming out from the back of his throat and Harry feels his tongue go dry. One of Louis’ hands reach down graze the stockings, reaching, touching just for a second before his eyes are trained on Harry’s face. 

“Answer me, Harry,” he mutters, leaning into Harry’s face so that his breath felt like the lingering touch, felt like the strokes of a ghost, barely there. “These are the ones I got you, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Harry tries, voice suddenly small. “Yes, Mr Tomlinson.”

“Fuck,” Louis says again, this time his hand stays, a cool, constant reminder that Harry was finally, finally getting what he wanted. “Fuck, you look so good,” he whispers and. And Harry’s going to beam. He’s going light up the sky with his smile because yes. Because Louis thinks he looks good. 

“Yeah?” Harry grins, nudging up closer to brush his nose against Louis’ cheek, a smile spreading without his consent. 

Louis looks like he’s about to reply, but then the phone rings, a sound sudden and quick, and Harry instantly takes a step back, as if caught. He glances up at Louis, before turning around to pick up. “Hello-”

“Did you got on that drink date with Fred? Like, around two weeks ago?” Zayn says from the other end. Harry frowns.

“Drink date with Fred? Yeah - yeah I went-” he gets cut off by Louis’ hand coming to grip harshly at his waist, touch almost angry. Harry looks at him in question and he stutters when he sees Louis’ hard stare. But a string in Harry’s heart, a loose and very long thread, tugs in glee, yells at him, as if saying, _see! He cares!_

“Why?” he remembers Zayn on the other line, waiting. 

“He wants to ask you out again. But he’s scared you’re gonna reject him or something. I told him to go for it, cause like he’s fit and all, right? And that thing with Louis was going no where, right, so -”

“Wait, fuck, what did you tell Fred?” 

“I told him he should ask you out. But like, for real this time. To a fancy dinner, or something,” Zayn says and he sounds almost proud. Harry can taste his smirk.

“You told Fred,” Harry starts, slow, “that he should ask me to dinner?”

“Fancy dinner, yes,” Zayn says. 

Before Harry can even answer, he feels a hot breath fanning his neck and a low mumble of “No” being said into his skin. “Say no,” Louis says softly, but surely. 

“I- I can’t,” Harry stutters into the phone. “Tell him not to, I’m not-” and then he feels cold air and he turns to see Louis move back, a small smirk by his lips as he walks into his office without looking back. Fuck.

“What?” Zayn stutters. “What do you mean you can’t? Haz, Fred’s a nice guy!”

“I’m sure he is, Zayn,” Harry breathes, voice staggering. “But I- I’m really not interested. Could you just please tell him? Or, I could, of course,” he mutters, moving to get back behind his desk, cock half hard and curled up to his stomach. 

“No, it's fine,” Zayn sighs. “I’ll do it. But you’re gonna regret it.” Harry thinks of Louis right then. Thinks of his hands and thinks of his scruff; thinks about all the different ways Louis could shove him against a wall, or into a bed of white, and could fuck him senseless. He thinks about the beautiful, expensive gift Louis’ gotten him that he’s clad in now and he thinks, nah, don’t think I’m gonna regret it all that much.

-

Harry’s day goes undisturbed, and he doesn’t change out of the stockings, garters or skirt once. He sits through lunch and every time Louis walks out, either for a meeting or just for the toilet, he would loudly stand up or push his chair back just to _show_ him. Just to let him see that Harry still had his little gifts on, that Harry _wanted_ them on. 

Louis’ eyes go dark and he adjusts himself blatantly, but he doesn’t touch, as if refraining himself. And he moves on. He moves on and Harry lets himself feel a little discouraged, but then he remembers Louis’ fingers, how angry they gripped him, and he remembers Louis’ gaze, and he remembers how Louis thought he looked good, so he doesn’t think too much of it, just goes back to work. He answers calls and he faxes papers and he reads through letters and only when the afternoon settles does Harry get the call he’s been waiting for most. 

“Harry?” Louis mutters from the other end, a silent command.

“Yes?” Harry whispers back, stopping a giggle from leaving him. “How can I help you, Mr Tomlinson?”

“Still in the skirt?” Louis asks, grunting. “Still wearing what I got for you?”

“Yes, Mr Tomlinson,” Harry says, a smile by his voice, just by the corner. “Still have them on. Just for you,” he purrs out the last part, making it come out smooth and sultry. 

“Minx,” Louis almost gasps from the other end. Harry isn’t sure if it was for him, but he smiles at it nonetheless, almost purrs back with a ‘daddy,’ which. Which.

“I want you to touch yourself,” Louis says then, suddenly. “Want you to get yourself loose and open with three fingers, right now, with me on the other end.” Harry blinks rapidly for a second because just ahead, a few corridors to the right, there are people still working and he _can’t_.

“Lou- Mr Tomlinson, I,” he starts, voice loosing itself. “I can’t - there are-”

“Are you saying no to me, Harry?” Louis asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question. “Even after I bought such lovely presents for you?”

“Fuck,” Harry bites out, closing his eyes. How is he supposed to do this?

“I want you feel those stocking stick to your legs, want you to imagine it's me touching you,” Louis says, a hushed tone taking over. “And then, once you get hard on just the thought, I want you to touch your cock, but I don’t want any rubbing.”

So Harry takes a deep breath, balances the phone on one hand and trails the other up and down his legs. He can hear Louis’ breathing from the other end, a reminder, and so he just lets himself, for just a second, imagine Louis’ fingers, his hands. He closes his eyes and fuck, it's so gentle, almost tickles, but Harry sees Louis’ face, sees his boss’s face all hard and hungry for him and the thought is just so... so lovely. “Fuck,” Harry whimpers out, a small noise following, coming straight from the tugging around his heart. 

He trails his hand up to gently brush the tip of his wet cock, hands just barely touching where the skin hides behind his shirt. It's barely anything, but it's more than before, and Harry blubbers out a small, “More,” before he’s whining into the phone.

“Mr Tomlinson,” he gasps, the words too big in his mouth, “I’m so wet,” he says, feeling the smooth precome. “I’m so wet for you.”

“Harry, fuck,” Louis’ curses from the other side. “Fuck, alright baby, alright.” Harry can hear little grunts slipping from his lips and it doesn’t take much for him to realize that Louis was probably touching himself, too. “I want you to reach under that pretty skirt of yours, and I want you to feel your panties. Want you to feel where your hole is, all pretty for me, and I want you to finger yourself open. Understand, baby?”

Yes, fuck, yes. He reaches around for the lube in his top drawers (kept there just in case operation stockings worked. Which it did.) He slicks all three fingers up before forcing his eyes open to look around for anybody walking around as he slips his hand under his skirt.

The panties are beautiful. Laced and silky, feeling lovely on Harry and he might - he might want more. They make him feel a delicate kind of pretty, something desirable, and he just- he thrives at the way Louis looks at him when he’s all decked up for him. Just as they are beautiful to look at, they’re so lovely to touch. Harry lets himself just feel the fabric, the curves and the bends of the material, before he pushes his fingers below, hips hoisting up to the air. He feels around for his hole, gasping prettily and softly into the phone when he finds it and his first fingers catches on the rim. “Mr Tomlinson - Mr Tomlinson, I’ve found it, fuck.”

“Found your hole, baby?” Louis asks from the other end and it's ridiculous because there’s just a wall, just a door Harry could cross through and Louis could finger him open himself (and Harry would finally have Louis between his legs) but no. They’re speaking through the phone and it's so fucking hot. 

“Yeah - found it, fuck, it's so tight. Wish you could feel me, Mr Tomlinson, fuck,” he grunts, playfully teasing his finger around the opening, just waiting for Louis to tell him to push it in. “Go ahead, baby. Open yourself up for me,” Louis says and Harry can hear him getting off, can just picture it in his head and it's so - it's so hot. 

He slips his first finger in and if it were just any other night, he would’ve yawned because he’s done this enough times for it to become boring. But the fact that Louis - Mr Tomlinson - was on the other end, telling him to move and telling him to stop, it felt like so much more. Almost like he was there touching Harry himself.

He moans out, but he stops himself before he gets too loud because fuck, they’re still at work, fuck. He moves around, adjusting, and his lubed fingers make it so, so wet. “Mr Tomlinson,” he gasps, trying to stop himself from being too loud. He’s not going to be able to hold it in. He’s _not_. 

“Ready for another, Harry?” Louis asks, breathing rigid and fast, almost a pant. “Put the second finger in Harry, c’mon, you’re ready.” So Harry does and fuck, he’s opening himself at his desk, with his panties shoved to the side, but for what?

“Want your hands, Mr Tomlinson,” Harry pants. “It's not enough.” He moves his fingers around, feeling and searching, though he knows the exact route to his prostate from the number of times he’s already done this. Two fingers are usually enough and he just wants _more_. 

“When you’re ready, I want you to put your third finger in, and nothing else. You’re going to make yourself come, gonna get all dirty for me, with three fingers inside you, understand?” Louis himself sounds like he’s on the edge, barely there, but not really, and Harry wishes, hopes, Louis knows that if he wanted, he could come all over Harry’s face or Harry’s arse. If he wanted. As long as Harry got to come, some time or another, with Louis inside him, because he was just yearning for it. Tired of waiting. 

“Yes, Mr Tomlinson,” he whispers. He moves around a little more, lets little sounds, higher than his usual voice, fall from his lips ever so often, but when he feels like he’s too used to his two fingers, he nudges the third one in and oh, it's not even that big of a stretch, but his middle finger just brushes around his prostate and _oh_. “Oh, oh fuck, _oh_ ,” he gasps, breathing harshly. His cock has gotten heavy, laying flat and thick on his stomach and it's just not that easy to ignore. Not when he’s gotten so close. He feels himself get warm, a sugary burst pooling into his stomach, his insides clenching as his hole does the same around his fingers and he’s close - he’s so close. “Fuck, Mr Tomlinson, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come,” he whispers, not sure how long he can hold back a scream that will attract people for sure. 

“Close, baby?” Louis grunts, a loud moan slipping from his tongue and Harry can hear his hand moving fast around his cock. “Come. Come for me, Harry, and when you do, I don’t want you to think of anybody but me,” he says. “Come on Harry, _come_.”

Maybe it's Louis’ voice or maybe it's the thought of Louis’ fingers inside of him, but Harry does. He comes with a silent cry, all over his shirt, slumping back onto his chair, hips settling down, and he can barely hold onto the phone. “Fuck, Mr Tomlinson,” and he can hear Louis on the other end, trying to catch up and then there’s that sudden urge, that feeling he felt before, and before he can think, he says so softly and gently into the phone, “Come on, come, _daddy_ ,” and right then, right at Harry’s words, Louis cries out, voice hoarse and tired. 

All they hear for a minute is the static of the phone, the dull buzz and the sound of their laboured breathing, till Louis speaks up. “See you tomorrow, Harry.” And the line cuts dead.

-

Harry remembers when he used to have trouble getting Louis (Mr Tomlinson? Daddy?) to look at him. He remembers how he used to think Louis (again - Mr Tomlinson? Daddy?) hated him or something and now, with Harry in his plain, black trousers, Louis won’t stop staring at him during the meeting. 

He was in to take some notes, sit beside Louis to help him out. But the second everyone it's down, Louis settles a hand heavily on Harry’s thighs, and as the meeting progresses, Louis’ hand comes up higher and higher, and Harry’s breathing gets more out of beat. He’s tried shooting glances, a glare laced with please, but Louis just keeps looking at him, passing smirks and as much as Harry would love to kiss him (for the first time, because though they’ve gotten off on the phone together, they haven’t kissed), or let him fuck him to oblivion, he would love if he didn’t get a fucking hard on in the middle of the meeting. His first meeting. 

It's gotten to the point where trying to keep up with the conversation is fruitless, and Fred’s in there as well, so every time he saves a grin for Harry, shoots him a charming smile, Louis’ grip would go sharp, his breathing rigid, and that - that wasn’t good because Harry just loved... loved feeling like he belonged. Not to someone, but with someone, and when he knew Louis felt threatened, he knew Louis cared. 

When the meeting is finally over, Harry rushes to get out, not bothering to check if Louis was behind him or not, because his trousers didn’t do much to cover his hard cock. Unfortunately, though Louis doesn’t catch him, Fred does. 

“Harry,” he calls and Harry stops at the sound of his name and fuck, he can’t pretend he didn’t hear now, so he turns around and tires to look at pleasant and approachable as possible. (Though unpleasant and unapproachable would work well, too. Considering the situation with Harry’s dick).“Hey, Fred. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Fred grins. Jesus, Fred’s such a nice guy, really, super cute, too. But. But Harry’s hard and he wants to wear his pretty panties, damnit. And _for_ someone else, too. “Listen, so I was just talking to Zayn - you know Zayn right? Yeah, so I was telling him about how we went out for a couple drinks a while back and he told me how you really like Thai food.” Zayn. Fucking Zayn. Fuck. “So I looked around a bit and guess what? There's this really nice Thai restaurant down the road, really close by, and I was thinking, it’d be so, so cool if we went there together, y’know? If you aren’t too busy.” How is Harry supposed to think up a sufficient excuse to the invitation when he’s trying not to squirm too much?

“Oh - oh. Yeah. I - I _do_ love Thai, man that... that Zayn sure does know me well. Right. Yeah. He’s got an instagram account. Did you know? And he posts the greatest selfies, honestly.” Harry tries to laugh it off, one hand coming to rest at the small of his back, the other falling to his side. 

“Yeah, he’s great, but you know what else is great? Thai food!” No, you don’t say, Fred. “So, what do you say? Tonight? If you’re not busy?”

Harry thinks of why he should say no and honestly, most of the answers are because _Louis told you to shove three fingers inside yourself just yesterday and you called him your daddy,_ but. But that was a one time thing. He could easily have dinner with Fred, and it could be just as friends. Why was he so worked up over this? 

He grins brightly at the thought. “You know what, Fred? I would love-”

“He can’t,” a voice cuts him off. And Harry knows before he even turns around. He’s sure anybody in his position would know. He’s dreamt about the voice for months. 

Louis stands with a hand in his pocket, the other firm by his side. His suit is dark and it makes him look important, big. Harry watches him come closer, a strange sort of nervousness scratching at him, at his stomach, at his throat. “He’s busy tonight. Has some important papers to look over for me.” There's so much authority in his voice, so much control. It's gotten deeper, like when he gets mad or turned on by Harry’s stockings. 

“Right,” Harry squeaks beside him when Louis comes to stand right by him, a hand coming to rest just at the small of Harry’s back, a reminder to Harry, to Louis himself, and because the movement isn’t subtle at all, a reminder to Fred. “Yeah, I forgot,” Harry turns to Fred, does his best to look apologetic. “I’m sorry, mate, maybe some other time?”

“No, yeah,” Fred lets out a smile. A polite one directed to Louis, knowing that there's no borders he can cross. “Of course, some other time, definitely. I’ll see you both around, yeah?”

“Bye,” Harry whispers but Fred’s already gone. They stand in the empty hallway for another minute, at least. The hand on Harry’s back remains and Louis stays silent while Harry tries to regain composure. The time is slower now, thicker as it moves heavily. 

“Mr Tomlinson-” Harry starts, turning to face his boss, wincing at the harsh, cold look he gets. 

“I want you in my office in five minutes. With everything on,” Louis says, he demands, his voice spoken in a hard tone, before his hand falls from Harry’s back and he’s moving out of the hallway and Harry blinks, his head fuzzy and confused as he tries to process what just happened.

-

He changes behind the desk because though most people have start to head home and he could easily go to the toilet, it's sort of tradition to change under the table. The panties are already on and the material of the stocking feels familiar and comfortable on his skin. 

When he feels ready, he stands up and tentatively knocks on the door, excitement dressed in worry bubbling at him.

“Come in,” Louis says, voice still that odd harsh, feeling bitter against Harry. When he steps inside, he sees the room looking big as ever, windows open, but the evening getting darker. There isn’t much lighting and it's dim enough for Harry to catch his breath when he finds Louis, sitting on his chair, looking down at some papers, glasses perched at his nose. He looks so beautiful, rugged as steel, sweet enough to touch. 

Harry moves to the center of the room, but waits. He knows - he knows he’s going to get instructions. 

But Louis stays silent. Lets Harry just stand there, doesn’t even look at him and Harry counts the minutes. He stops after he’s passed the ten minute mark in his head. “Mr Tomlinson?” he asks, voice raspy and soft. 

Louis looks up at him, slowly, deliberately, and Harry feels exposed. 

“Come here,” Louis says then, a finger coming up to direct Harry until he stands just in front of Louis, his back pressed into the desk. He takes careful steps, but once he stands in position, he stills. Louis looks up at him, then back down. He is at eye level with Harry’s hip, his hands could easily rip open the fishnet cupping Harry’s soft thighs and he could just reach out and bite the garters hidden just above the line of his the skirt. 

Louis lets one hand up to hold tightly onto Harry’s hips, the other grazing past Harry’s stockings. He thinks it's gentle, thinks it's just a tender movement, till suddenly, Louis draws his hand back and slaps down quickly, bitterly, at Harry’s patterned left thigh, hitting around the skirt. 

Harry yelps, a shocked sound carrying itself around the room. He looks down to see Louis look up at him, this anger in his eyes, his hunger trapped in there, too. 

“Yesterday, when you came,” Louis starts, his voice so low, so deep, it's nothing but a growl. He grips on harshly to Harry’s left thigh, where he hit just before, and keeps him steady. “Who did you think of?” Louis questions. 

There’s this side of Harry that Harry’s never seen, this desperate, needy side that just - that just wants to listen to Louis. Listen to his every command, wants to accommodate to them, be good for him. And this side... this side makes him whimper out, a high sound that feels strangled in Louis’ tight hold. “Tell me, Harry, who did you think of?”

“You,” Harry gasps, mouth opening as Louis’ breath fans his skin. “Only you.”

Louis stands up then, pushing Harry back into the desk. “Turn around,” he says and Harry doesn’t think, he just _does_. He moves instantly, lets Louis push him towards the desk. “I want you bent over the desk, your arse up.”

Harry’s breathing stops at the words, and everything stills. For a second, Harry doesn’t move, just stays alive, and then slowly, carefully, he puts his arms flat on the desk and heaves his arse up, feeling almost natural, yet so, so out of his element. Harry skirt rides up till it only hides the skin before his panties, till it does absolutely nothing, and Harry feels Louis everywhere. Feels his stare everywhere. There’s only silence at first, the room feeling yellow, till Louis’ voice draws him back.

“What happened just now, after the meeting?” Louis asks, a hand coming up to knead through Harry’s soft, covered arse. He lets his hand rest there, gently massaging the globes, feeling them. 

Harry closes his eyes, ducks his head down and answers, “I - I was talking to Fred.” And then, as sudden and surprising as before, a harsh smack lands on the right side of Harry’s arse and - and he doesn’t even make a sound. His eyes go wide, they go shocked, and his mouth falls open because Louis just _spanked_ him. Hard and deliberate and sure, and it _hurt_. He turns to face Louis, blinking rapidly in confusion, but Louis looks indifferent. “Continue,” he says. “What were you talking to him about?”

“He - he asked me to dinner,” and before he feels it, he hears it. That loud sound, even under the layers of clothing, this time on his left cheek. It's quick, like footsteps, and the aftermath is Harry’s shock. Louis rests his hands on the arse, on the arse he just spanked again, and this time, Harry doesn’t look back because he knows it was coming. He closes his eyes and then he sees, he notices - he’s so fucking hard. 

“And - and I said-” but before he can finish, another spank lands just as harshly, if not getting harder, on the middle, just around the crack and he feels so much. He feels so, so much. And he continues because he can feel the warmth, the blatant anger, radiate off of Louis’ skin. 

“I nearly said yes-” and it's the hardest one yet, and they’ve only had three. Louis grips the flesh after he slaps it, making the burn feel harsher. 

“I nearly said yes because I wanted to go as - as friends-” he feels Louis pull the skirt down, past his curve of his arse, till all that's left is the panties that beautifully contrast on his pale bum. Or - not so pale bum. Harry feels Louis’ fingers run and grab through the material before he slips it down so that Harry’s arse is bare and pretty and there for Louis. There for him to touch, to feel, to use. 

“Say it again,” Louis whispers, leaning down to Harry, just by his ear. “What you were just saying - say it again."

“I said-” he sobs suddenly, his voice cracked. The burning has started to feel a beautiful numb, and Harry feels so much. “I said I nearly said yes-” and Louis’ hand comes down like a wave against rocks, feels like a storm as it slaps down bitterly on Harry’s bare arse and Harry cries out then, loud, a scream in there as he feels the impact. 

“Don’t fucking stop,” Louis growls.

“Because I wanted to go as friends - I said yes because I wanted to go as friends and -” When Louis hits again, Harry cries out, “Fuck!” and Harry knows Louis loves it. He loves it because it's for him, Harry’s here, crying out, enjoying every fucking second of being spanked and dominated and held possessive, for Louis, all for Louis. 

It comes down another six more times. Every time, it's another different kind of sting. By the final one, Harry’s slumped on the table, muttering his words in no correct order, and Louis is vivid and alive behind him. His hands are red and he can see they match the dark, pink-ruby red of Harry’s arse and he can’t help it when he falls to his knees, weak after seeing Harry out and open for him, and kisses around the top, warm redness. 

Harry keens loudly at the feeling, at the weird, comforting movement. His cock is so thick, and so angry beneath him, pressed onto the desk, and he knows that with any movement, he would come. He would come so easily because even through every spank, he felt Louis’ hard dick press into the back of his thighs and he can feel the stinging burn all around his bum and it's so fucking wonderful and Harry feels so much. 

“Mr Tomlinson,” he sobs when Louis spreads his cheeks apart, fingers nimble and movements delicate, as if scared he would hurt Harry more. His thumb massages smooth, clean skin and Harry’s about to cry, he wants Louis everywhere. “Mr Tomlinson, _please_ , I’m sorry - please, please do something-”

But Louis cuts him off by running his tongue, flat and wet, over Harry’s hole and Harry _screams_ out, “Fuck!”

He’s going to come, but he knows he can’t. He can’t because he’s already made his boss angry and he can’t because he has to please him. So he forces himself to still and a silent sob escapes him when he feels so, so close to coming. 

Louis himself doesn’t say anything. He just touches - he feels Harry everywhere, feels the skin he abused and the arse he could use and he feels so wonderful, so big, because fuck, it was right there, just for him, and finally, he didn’t have to hold back. He leans forward, buries his face into the parting of Harry’s arse, the tip of his tongue just brushing Harry’s rim, and with just one hear of Harry whimper out, “please,” he dips in and slides his tongue into the red hot warmth inside Harry. 

Harry starts to mewl, a pretty sound that gets lost behind these obscene noises coming from Louis’ tongue and Harry - he feels overwhelmed. Louis’ tongue is fast and it's smart, it starts off with the smallest licks, just around the front, tasting but not giving, and once he feels Harry start to shake, he thrusts it all in, movement swift, and Harry just lies on the table, a mess of tears and whimpers, and he takes it. He takes whatever Louis is willing to give him. 

“Fuck, Mr To-” the word is too big in his mouth as Louis fits in a finger beside his tongue and Harry’s eyes fall shut and he yells out, “ _Daddy!_ ” It must’ve taken Louis by shock because his tongue and finger still, for just a second, before they start again, with such a vigour, such intensity that it takes everything, every ounce of self control, for Harry not to come right there. 

When Harry calls him daddy, it must do something to Louis. Because he gets louder, and he gets faster and he gets angrier. He brings his finger out and he grabs onto Harry’s cheeks, pulls them apart and holds them steady as he drives his tongue in, and pulls it all back out. Harry’s thighs shake, caught like a leaf in a storm, and fuck, he can’t take it, he can’t, but it's okay because right then, Louis pulls out, leans his face into the arse and whispers, “Come for daddy,” and that's it.

It hits him hard and it hits him white, all he can feel and see is nothing as he falls to the desk, and his cock just leaks and leaks and leaks itself dry. He screams out, but he can’t hear himself, and only when he feels a hand stroking his thighs does he blink an eye open to see around himself. The windows shine just the dark moon and bright night lights into the room, and it feels almost intimate. The hollow atmosphere of the room almost makes this feel special. 

When Harry turns around, he sees Louis standing tall, despite his short frame, and sturdy. His face is turned to look away, but Harry can see the wet patch on his trousers. Harry takes a quiet step forward, hand reaching out to touch the dark jacket of Louis’ suit. “Mr Tomlinson,” he starts, unsure of what to say. His bum is so, so sore and he can’t move without wincing and his voice is hoarse, but he needs to say something. “I’m sorry - for earlier. He’s - Fred’s a friend, and he just wanted-”

“Go home,” Louis interrupts, taking a step back so that Harry’s hand falls to his side. “I’ll see you on Monday.” He turns towards his chair and Harry slumps, a harsh feeling rushing into his stomach.

-

On Monday morning, Harry walks into Louis’ office a half hour after he arrives to work, in his stockings and skirt, but Louis doesn’t bat an eyelash.

-

“Mate, he’s been ringing for you, go bring him his tea,” Niall mutters from his desk, looking up once as Harry sits on the couch, legs tucked under him as he flips through a magazine. Harry glances up, scrunching his nose at Niall’s words, and turns back to his magazine. “Tell him to go fuck himself,” he mutters grimly.

“Harry-” Niall starts, sighing. It's lunch break and Louis is being a fucking dick. He’s been a dick all week and Harry’s had it. Louis’ started to put pressure on him, given him a larger than life load of crap to sort out, and has Harry running to and fro to get him papers and letters and files and tea and Harry’s had it. It's lunch break and he’s _not_ going to bring Louis anything. No matter how many times Louis calls Niall’s office. “You can’t just _not_ listen to your boss,” Niall finishes.

“Actually, tell him to stop using the company phone for personal issues,” Harry says, completely ignoring Niall’s remark because if Louis wanted to fire him for not bringing in his tea when Harry knows he doesn’t like it, then fine. 

“This isn’t a personal issue,” Niall says. “This is tea.”

“I know right!” Harry says loudly. “Tea! Why can’t he make it himself, that dick.” It's like he doesn’t care anymore. Niall sits through his whining and Zayn’s already told him to shut the fuck up at least a hundred times, but he doesn’t care. He doubts he’ll even have his job for much longer, so whats a little fun before it's nothing at all?

“That's not what I meant, Haz,” Niall says, fingers moving fast. He’s been working non stop through lunch, eyes trained on his computer. 

“But that's what you were thinking,” Harry counters.

“Go,” Niall demands, pointing at the door but not looking at it. “Shoo. Louis could have me fired if I have you in here for much longer. Leave my office and bring your boss tea. Go.”

Harry sighs dramatically, carelessly drops the magazine on the coffee table and gets up to drag himself towards his desk a couple stories up. When he makes the tea, he puts in two large spoonfuls of sugar just because and as he goes to knock on Louis’ door, he tells himself he’s not going to snap. _No_. 

“Tea, Mr Tomlinson?” he says as he moves for the table, setting the cup down.

Louis looks up at him with an eyebrow raised and Harry can tells he’s about to say something, so he smiles sweetly, bitterly, before turning around and heading for the door. Don’t drink it yet, don’t drink it yet, don’t drink it yet, he keeps whispering in his head, but-

“Harry?” Louis says just as he’s about to open the door and damnit, fuck.

“Yes?” he turns around, swallowing. 

Louis looks at him, from across the room, almost frowning. He’s holding his cup (fuck) and he isn’t impressed. Harry pushes down the urge to whimper at him, instead pushing out a bright grin that's supposed to look at least a little innocent. 

“There is sugar in my tea,” Louis says slowly as if he thinks Harry won’t understand. He shakes his head, “You know that I don’t take sugar.”

“Oh?” Harry questions, fluttering his lashes, the absolute definition of pretty, his mouth falling open. “A fan of bitter tea?”

“No,” Louis snaps, nearly snarls, god damnit. “You’re sweet enough.” If it wasn’t so sarcastic, Harry would’ve giggled, instead he blinks. Louis is getting mad, Harry can tell from the way his eyes trail up and down Harry’s body and settle on his face. Harry isn’t giving in.

Harry snorts, forces the sound out. “I’m sure I am,” he smiles. “You would know, right?”

Louis’ eyes flash up at him, ready to say something sharp, but Harry isn’t giving in. “If that is all, I’ve got some calls to attended to. Bye, Mr Tomlinson.” He’s close enough to the door so that he doesn’t have to hear Louis call after him and once he’s outside the room, he tells himself give in now.

-

The next week, he has his panties hand washed and he’s wearing them along with the fishnets under his trousers. Not for his boss, but for himself. He reminds himself that as he sorts through Louis’ files during lunch break, while Louis is out for a meeting. The room is quiet and Harry doesn’t know how Louis can stand it because most of the time, while he works, he can hear the people from just a couple hallways down and he knows he isn’t alone, but in the office room, it's so easy to feel as if in solitude. 

He looks through one last time, checks everything is in alphabetical order when the door opens and Louis walks in, a briefcase in hand. Harry freezes, feeling caught, but when he realizes he’s not doing anything _wrong_ , he ducks his head back down and continues looking through. He passes J, K, L, M when he sees Louis move from the corner of his eye. He skims past N, O, P, Q, R and Louis is behind him, breath hitting the back of his neck. He can’t even get to T before Louis speaks up. “Finished?”

He turns around, caught between the desk and Louis himself and he nods, biting his lip as he advances to move around the table. 

But.

But one of Louis’ hands come to rest at his hip, holding ever so gently that Harry could easily brush it off. Instead, his breath hitches and he looks up from the floor to see Louis’ face. It's indifferent, placid, like usual. 

“Mr Tomlinson -” Harry starts, but then the fingers curl softly around his hip starts to tug at his trousers, barely moving. It slips gently under the waistband of the pants and when they brush the delicate lace of his panties, Harry gasps, watching Louis look up at him. 

“You’ve got them on?” Louis asks, whispering. His eyes shine, something dark and something hungry washing over them and Harry’s seen it before - he’s seen this look before. Louis gets this look every time Harry wears anything bought by him and Harry knows - he can tell that Louis loves it. He loves it when Harry’s thighs are wrapped up in material he got for him and Harry arse is tucked into panties he picked out for him. 

“Of course,” Harry whispers. “Considered investing on a few more,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“You love them,” Louis says, surprised almost. “Just love them on you, don’t you?”

Harry knows he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t nod and he shouldn’t give in, but it's so hard to resist. Especially when he feels Louis want it, too. “I love them,” Harry admits, eyes falling shut. “Love that you bought them for me.” It's dangerous. Because every time Harry brings up something more intimate than whatever happening between them, every time Harry or Louis himself gets too close, Louis backs away. 

But not this time. This time, Louis mutters, “Bet you look so pretty in them, fuck.”

Harry takes that as the go. He blinks once, tells himself okay, fine, and he puts one hand against Louis’ chest to shove him down onto the chair behind him. It's quick, and Louis frowns up at him, sat on his chair. Harry takes one long breath, then another, and Louis waits patiently for him. Once he feels he’s ready, he slowly tugs at the front of his pants, staring right into Louis’ eyes. He’s not going to strip for Louis, but he is going to tease him. So he moves slow, unbuttoning the top fast, but taking his time peeling the trousers from his thighs, showing just the sharp black of the lace.

Louis stares at him like he’s something magical, like he’s beautiful and wild and young and his. Louis stares at him like he’s never going to want to stare at something else and Harry wants that stare on him. For now and for as long as he can get it. 

He toes the pants down his legs, the fishnet stocking waiting patiently to be admired, and once the pants are pooled down by his feet, he steps away, pulling his shirt over his head so that all he stands in are Louis’ gifts and a smirk. Louis is already hard. 

He takes the smallest step forward, can see the way Louis’ hands twitch because he just wants to touch, and he sinks to his knees in one swift movement. Louis probably wasn’t expecting it, because his eyes bulge but Harry just crawls forward, situating himself between Louis’ knees and trouser clad thighs. He looks up Louis, sitting back on his heels, hands running up and down his skin, teasing, tempting, before he reaches up to lightly brush his fingers past Louis’ clothed cock as it sits curled up, begging to be touched, sucked. He looks up at Louis, asking, can I? And who is Louis to say no?

He nods once and it's enough because Harry instantly moves to the zipper, tugging it down, before he slips a hand in, under the boxers, to feel Louis’ warm, hard cock. 

Louis hisses at the contact, but he urges Harry nonetheless with the little sound of, “Yeah.” Harry swallows, nods back, before he pushes the pants down and pulls the cock out. He wraps a hand around the base, watching it twitch and watching Louis’ eyes fall shut, and he tells himself, you’re not going to let Louis get rid of you so easily after this. With that in mind, with the determination at heart, he lunges forward, hand coming up to rest at Louis’ thighs as lets his tongue move quickly over the head, once. 

It's enough, for now, because Louis lets out a low, “Fuck,” and alright. 

Harry dips down, mouth covering the head, but pulling out just as fast, teasing. He rubs his hand up and down the shaft, letting himself get familiar with it, before he licks the tip again, over the slit to make Louis grunt. 

“Fuck, c’mon baby,” Louis urges. “C’mon.” So Harry looks up Louis, keeps his eyes trained on him, and he ducks down to take the cock into his mouth is one brisk movement. It's warm and heavy inside his mouth, feels like it's drowning him down, and when the tip caresses the back of his throat, he chokes a little, but it's fine because he loves the way Louis lets out a loud cry above him. 

He pushes off, lets the head slip from his lips, but with another deep breath, he takes it in again, eyes starting to water, lips a shiny, wet red. One of Louis’ hands come down to touch his cheek, feel the outline of his cock inside, and Harry moans because Louis looks so astounded. As if he’d never expect Harry to do it, to take him so well and so beautifully. 

He pulls out once more, hand going back to rub the base and he kisses the tip, giggles as it stares angrily back at him. “You can fuck my throat, y’know,” Harry says, looking up with a grin. “If you wanted, you could.”

Louis makes a choking sound, something that makes Harry wonder that even if Louis is always the one initiating everything, always the one above him, if he’s the one with all the power. If his laced arse and decorated legs were really the ones with the upper hand; driving Louis crazy.

A hand comes down to grip harshly at Harry’s hair, tugging once, twice, watching as Harry moves the direction the hand instructs. And as Harry takes Louis back into his mouth, he feels that hand pull him in, drown him with demand. 

Louis must take throat fucking seriously because he carefully, but surely, makes Harry take his entire cock in one go, lets it sit inside for a second as Harry blinks rapidly in effort, before pulling out just to tug Harry back in. 

He fucks Harry’s mouth with intensity, pushes him and pushes him till the tears fall and saliva dribbles out his mouth, but pulls him back right before he has to stop, lets him breathe right when he thinks it's too much. It's lovely inside Harry’s mouth, but the sight is what gets him. Just the image of Harry’s pink, plump, deceivingly innocent lips wrapped around his cock, stretched to fit, makes Louis go insane, makes him want to keep it this way forever. Just the image of Harry’s long lashes batting up at him and Harry’s dainty tongue peaking out to lick his skin ever so often is what makes Louis cry out, “close.”

And just before he pushes into Harry for what must be the last time, Harry resists. He closes his mouth and turns his head so that Louis’ cock slides past his cheek, staining it with saliva and precome. 

“Not yet,” Harry whispers, smiling when Louis whines out. “I want you to fuck me over your desk.”

He gets up, hands coming up to rest at by his side as he smiles down at him. “You’ll fuck me bent over this table,” he starts, “won’t you, daddy?” He knows because he’s smart. Louis won’t say no, mostly because he probably doesn’t want to, considering the state of his cock, but also because it's Harry. It's Harry and he’s calling Louis daddy and Louis isn’t strong enough, not then, probably not ever, to say no to that. 

“Come here,” Louis instructs, patting at his lap. “Let me open you up for me,” he mutters, watching as Harry walks over to him, hips swaying like the little minx he is. Harry lets Louis grip onto either side of his waist, lets Louis press his fingers into the lace of the panties, and he easily settles himself when Louis pulls him down onto his lap. The chair is large and Harry tucks his knees on either side of Louis, hands up to Louis’ shoulder, hoisting himself up so that his arse his hung prettily on thin air. He bends down, lips brushing over Louis’ nose, past his cheek and around his stubble till they fan over Louis’ lips. And that's when he realizes - he’s had Louis’ mouth on his arse, all around his hole, and he’s just had Louis’ cock inside his own mouth, but not once have they kissed and. And no. 

_No_.

He takes the opportunity as it stands clearly in front of him and presses his lips firmly down on Louis’. It takes him surprise because he doesn’t respond at first, but as Harry’s hands turn to fists, urging Louis to do something, Louis kisses just as hardly back. One hand goes straight to Harry’s arse as the other grips at his hip to steady him and Harry’s in love with the taste of Louis’ mouth. He loves it because it's new and because he knows Louis can taste himself on Harry’s tongue and because this feels right. Even Louis can’t deny that. 

Louis brings the hand that cups Harry’s bum up to caress Harry’s cheek before he pulls away and slips two fingers into Harry’s mouth. It's dirty and it's beautiful as Harry’s eyes flutter shut and he bobs his head around the skin, tasting the salt of the sweat. “Harry,” Louis grunts in admiration, mind flashing to how Harry was just on his knees, taking his cock instead of his fingers. He moves the finger around, feels the velvet of Harry’s mouth and the warmth of his tongue before he pulls them out and lets the hand fall back to Harry’s arse. Harry feels it slip beneath the panties to grope at his bum, feeling around. Harry keens desperately into Louis’ mouth, gasping as Louis sneaks in his tongue and right then, he feels a wet finger circling his rim and oh.

_Yes_.

“Fuck,” he whines into the kiss, sloppily breathing against Louis’ lips. “Fuck, daddy.” Louis grips on a little harder, bruising his hips for sure and Harry - he can’t wait to go home and see them. To lift his shirt up in front of the bathroom mirror and see finger marks that match his boss’s. He curls a hand up to Louis’ hair, to grip the long strands that have tempted him for so long and he moans loud and clear when Louis’ first finger slips in.

“So tight,” Louis mutters, breathing rigid. “You feel so tight, baby, fuck.” Harry nods to his words, desperately catching his mouth in another kiss because he needs - he needs so much right now. Everything and always, he wants to feel Louis kiss him and want him. Wants it everywhere. 

“For you daddy,” Harry promises, mewling when Louis curls his finger, searching, stretching him open and it's just - it's his boss’s finger. His boss, the one he’s pined for so long is fingering him open it's just so hot and so risky and so lovely that it's not enough. “Another,” Harry whines. “I can do another, want to feel it, daddy.”

And so, Louis tucks another one inside, almost instantly, and this time, he gets it right because the tip of his fingers just barely brush against a spot that makes Harry’s toes curl and his back arch, beautifully like stringed art. “Louis!” he gasps, hands flopping, failing, trying to grab something to anchor himself and catching Louis’ shoulder in response. “Louis, again,” he cries. His cock has been hard for quite a while and he doesn’t know how he’s still holding on, but it won’t be for much longer. “I can’t- I need to come. Please, daddy, let me come, please.” The words fall in pieces, like summer rain, begging and pleading while Louis shakes his head.

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you, Harry,” he counters. “Thought you wanted me inside of before you come.” 

“Yeah, yeah please,” Harry nods. “It's enough, I can do it daddy, _please_.” He must look a sight, sat on his boss’s lap, crying for his cock but it's like he doesn’t care because he _doesn’t_. He doesn’t because Louis is just as hard as he is and he knows that Louis isn’t going to leave him hanging by a string, so he pleads. If it’ll get him closer to what he wants, he’ll do it. 

Right then the fingers stop stretching and feeling and Louis slips them out. He ignores Harry’s loud whine and instead, he lets both hands grip Harry’s hips as he heaves Harry up. It's just for a second and Harry knows that it takes some effort from Louis’ part, but for just that second that he clung to nothing but Louis as Louis sat him down at his desk, he felt alive. He felt like he could trust him, felt like it was enough. Louis sets him down on the desk, flat on his back, his laced legs hanging off the sides and Louis settles himself between Harry’s legs, eyes drinking in the entire lane of pale, smooth skin and the contrasting garment around the bottom. 

Harry feels Louis’ hands run up and down his thighs, blunt fingernails catching at the material as he grips them, lips coming down to kiss Harry’s inner thighs, right where the fishnet stockings end and garters begin. “Louis- Louis please,” he babbles, hands coming down to grip Louis’ hair as Louis kisses up, small pecks on Harry laced crotch, around the hips, before coming up to his chest. His lips catch around Harry’s right nipple and Harry shivers - he shivers like a little boy opening Christmas presents in thin cotton - and Louis smiles into his skin because yes. Yes, Harry is spread out, looking like fine art, all for him. Making noises that go straight to Louis’ cock, all for him. 

Harry’s never been more content with any kind of position as much as he is with the one he is in right now. Louis feels solid above him, between his legs, and as he wraps them around Louis’ waist, keeping him there and keeping him for as long as he can, he feels so happy. Louis is still completely dressed, apart from his red hot angry cock that sticks out, while Harry’s completely naked and it's just as hot as it is frustrating. 

He pulls at Louis’ jacket, the rich material clinging to his hands like the soap sticking to your fingertips and Harry makes these little noises, little whine like sounds as he urges Louis to _hurry up_ and to _get naked._

“So desperate,” Louis whispers, almost to himself. “You’re so desperate for it, Harry.” As if he doesn’t know. It's like Louis has been ignorant to Harry prancing around in women’s lingerie, just for him. As if he thinks he’s the only that's had to hold back and the the only one that's wanted something - wanted this.

When Harry realizes that Louis isn’t going to get naked any time soon, he takes it upon himself to hoist his hip up, rubbing ever so lightly against Louis’ crotch, and tug his panties to the side, letting himself gasp as his hole clenches around cold, empty air. 

He feels one of Louis’ hands cover the hand that pushes his panties and when he blinks up in question, Louis mutters, “I want to fuck you with them on,” and oh. Alright. 

“Get on with it, then,” Harry whines, so tired of waiting. He nearly giggles when he gets a short, sharp smack on his inner thighs and Louis looks up with a warning, but ever so fond gaze. “Watch your mouth, Harry,” he says with a grin and suddenly, it's so funny. 

It's still immensely hot. So hot that Harry’s sure he’s never been so turned on his life and he’s had a varsity football player fuck him in the showers while Harry wore nothing but his jersey, but it's also so _good_. A dangerous kind of risky because they could get any second, and yet a giggly kind of lovely because Harry’s stocking covered legs look so beautiful wrapped around Louis’ waist and it's like - it's like finally. Finally.

Louis brings his hand down, opening a drawer and taking out a condom and a packet of lube. He slips it on, drizzles lube all over his length, circling a hand around his cock to direct it to Harry’s hole and when the tip catches on the opening, it's not so funny anymore. 

Louis pushes in and it burns. Harry feels it everywhere, inside and all over his skin, but it's so fucking terrific, so amazing, because Louis feels big and sturdy and _constant_ inside him. And he’s been wanting this for so, _so_ long. Louis starts slow, aims to go deep and tender, but when Harry tries to grind down, hands coming up to grip Louis’ back, he starts to move fast. 

It's nothing but the sound of skin against skin, Harry’s pretty little whines and gasps that sound low coming from his throat and Louis’ grunts, his “Fuck, yes,” or “You’re so good,” and it's perfect - it's enough. So when Louis hits his prostate dead on, Harry falls back, back arching off the table like piano notes and it's beautiful. It's fucking beautiful because Harry can feel it. He can feel it so well and it feels so good. He clenches around Louis’ cock, does his best to squeeze the loud moans out of Louis’ lips because they are what drives him on. 

Harry comes first, hands gripping onto Louis’ shoulder as Louis tugs his cock laying quietly by his stomach once, twice, and he spurts all over his stomach with a dry cry, his panties wet and dirty. Louis comes after, thrusting in a couple more times, Harry laying there oversensitive, but taking it all. Soundless moans slips his lips till he feels Louis’ move turn erratic as he spills into his condom, Harry’s name loose on his lips. 

He’s tired, Harry can tell because he is too, but he urges forward and catches Harry’s lips into his mouth, the kiss languid and slow and torturous. Harry lets out a soft sigh, a sound content and happy, as he tucks one hand into Louis’ hair, anchoring Louis down to him, keeping him steady. 

When Louis pulls back, he just stares down at Harry. It's hot, his gaze, and Harry finds it hard not to squirm in it. So he plops his head back and lays flat on the desk, feet still loosely wrapped around Louis’ waist. It isn’t comfortable, laying on the hard desk, but the amount of times Harry’s imagined being pushed onto it, being fucked on it, it feels like rose petals. 

Louis finally gets up, slides out of Harry’s hold to probably get rid of the used condom. It's weirdly silent for a while - weird because it isn’t uncomfortable, maybe even a little familiar. Harry breathes heavily through his nose, one arm coming to fling over his eyes so that the lights don’t shine directly down at him, creating tangerine glows behind his lids. 

“Harry,” Louis starts and Harry’s prepared. He’s told himself he isn’t going to let Louis get away with leaving this as it is. “Listen, it's getting late, I think-”

“No,” Harry interrupts. He doesn’t feel like he’s talking to his boss, no, and it's probably because he’s not. He’s talking to the man who’d just fucked him; he’s talking to the man he’d just given a blowjob to. He’s talking to the man he wants and he isn’t letting him go so fast. “I’m not just leaving again, Louis,” he says, speaking his name without a single care. “You don’t get to get rid of me so easily.”

He hears Louis sigh, a soft sound. “Harry,” he starts, his voice with the strangest, warmest lilt. “It''s not- I’m not getting rid of you. It's not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” Harry snaps lazily, blinking his eyes open and getting up to seating position. He feels like a child, feels so small and stupid sitting on the desk, naked kept his garments, looking up at Louis with wide eyes. “What is it like because we always - we always end up like this. Getting off together, or doing whatever it is we do, and then you just send me away. You send me away and you don’t even look at me again for another week.”

Louis swallows, doesn’t look at him. He looks smart, perfectly fitted in his big, black suit, but Harry can see his messed up hair and his careless, stubbly jaw and the tiredness by his eyes. He can see it so clearly because all he can see is him. And now, in the sudden dark, paleness of the room, he sees Louis as more than just a fit guy he’d like to get off with - he sees him as a man who couldn’t control himself. Just like Harry can’t - just like they both can’t when it comes to each other. 

“Look,” Louis says. “I’m - I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, I really, truly am, but I need you to understand Harry,” he says, finally looking up at him, looking nothing less than placid. “We can’t - fuck, we can’t just keep doing this, it's not-”

“What?” Harry challenges, hopping off the table and standing to his feet. He takes a couple steps till he stands right in front of Louis, provoking him. “What, Louis?”

When he says nothing back, Harry feels angry. His breathing goes out of it's normal pattern and he can’t even feel the gentle soreness around his body, from being push down and held careful. His voice is scratchy, used, coming out in broken waves. “Fuck, what are you so _scared_ of?” 

Louis’ eyes flash like diamonds caught in sunshine and Harry frowns back at him, waiting and waiting, but not getting anything and he doesn’t - he doesn’t understand why Louis is so quiet all of a sudden. “Nothing,” Louis says then, insisting, turning his cheek to look out the window, to look at anything but Harry. “It's late, Harry,” he adds as if it’ll get Harry to do anything. 

“What?” Harry chuckles, just a little bitter. A part of him is laughing because this is his boss and he could get fired any second now, but he knows he’s not going to. Louis won’t let go that easily- not when Harry’s still got his embroidered legs. “Have you got someone waiting at home? Is that why you’re always in a hurry to get me out?” 

There’s this sudden silence and Harry’s eyes go wide because it supposed to be sarcastic and unrealistic because he’d never thought of Louis with someone else, but- but Louis turns to look at him and it takes everything in Harry not to slap him right then - to give him a chance to speak. “Louis,” he starts, voice warning. 

“No,” he replies, staring at Harry’s face and finally at nothing else. His voice cracks a little at the end, but he keeps going. “I don’t - I’m not with anybody,” he says and a part of Harry, maybe some area around his heart, feel relief. At least he’s not infatuated with someone hurting others to get to him. “Or at least,” Louis continues, a bitter smile creeping its way up his lips. “I’m not with anybody anymore.”

Harry takes a step back and he feels himself lose that power he had before - that power to make Louis look away - as he frowns in confusion. “What...what do you mean? What is that supposed to mean?”

Louis snorts and takes a step forward, some kind of balance settling between them. “It means that before you - before you came there was someone. Or there was going to be someone and now there’s not, alright?”

Louis is standing right in front of him again, taking up his air and filtering out his thoughts. He looks tired, in his big, black suit, he looks worn down and ready to just rest. Harry doesn’t understand what Louis means for a second, but when he does, his heart tries to burst. It tries to crawl its way out of the twigs and turns of Harry’s ribcage and out to touch, feel, kiss Louis’ face. It doesn’t make sense. “What- why?” Harry can feel a little grin coming up and it's awful because for all he knows, he fucked up someone’s relationship just by existing, but it's so lovely. 

Louis looks at him and just at him, smiles a little from the corners. “You came in and you were like the clumsiest, most brightest thing I had ever seen,” Louis says, softer then, reaching to rest his forehead against Harry’s and it's intimate and it's slow and it's good. “I knew from then that - that if I didn’t cut it off with my girlfriend of the time, I’d end up hurting her more, and I was right because not a week later, you came into my room in - in a skirt, and I was just-” Louis stops to smile and Harry tries to look away because a blush is definitely covering his face.

Louis slows down, lets time pass as his words calm down, and then he breathes heavily through his nose, tilts his head up, lips brushing Harry’s forehead as he whispers, “You were just so beautiful and I couldn’t stop staring and I couldn’t think of anything or anybody but you. I couldn’t - fuck, I couldn’t stay away.” It's almost angry, when he speaks, like he’s mad at himself for being weak, but Harry’s never seen someone be so strong, be so sure.

He doesn’t think, doesn’t care, as he brings a hand up to curl around the side of Louis’ neck to face him and he lunges forward to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. The hairs along Louis’ jaw burn his skin and they feel raw and alive, and Louis kisses him with so much undeniable tenderness that Harry just kisses and kisses and kisses.

“Don’t stay away, then,” he whispers when he pulls back for air. “Don’t make me leave because I don’t have to, I don’t _want_ to.” He pushes his chest against Louis’ then, feels the wool against his bare, cold skin. “I want to stay, so let me stay.”

“Okay,” Louis whispers, ducking in again to kiss Harry’s lips quickly, once, twice, then pulls away to nod. “Stay.”

-

Harry’s got red lace stretched around his bum and he’s on his knees, tucked under Louis’ desk with Louis’ cock in his mouth when the knock comes. 

It's halfway through a moan from Louis’ lips and it's muffled, sounds far away. Harry stops instantly, jaw slack and eyes wide as he looks up at Louis. It's silent for a second, then two, and Harry starts _laughing_. It's quick and it's abstract and it's silent, but it's vibrates around Louis’ cock and it's so random, but Harry’s laughing and Louis is going to moan and the door opens because they forgot to lock it and fuck.

“Mr Tomlinson?” Zayn asks, popping his head in and Harry’s going to start laughing again because of course Zayn would be the one coming in at a time like this. Of course. 

“Yes?” Harry hears Louis croak out, voice strained. He peers up at him, Louis’ cock sliding out Harry’s lips, and he can see Louis look ahead, one hand holding onto Harry’s hair, the other gripping the armrest of his chair. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I still haven’t gotten the document for the confirmation of the half-term deal-” Louis tugs harshly at Harry’s curls and Harry knows why - he was supposed to’ve mailed it by now. He closes his eyes, knows it's not going to be good once Zayn leaves, but then he realizes - he’s got Louis’ cock right in front of him. He smirks wildly, a giddy feeling pooling in his stomach as he leans forward and licks quickly just over the head, making Louis look down at him sharply, lips caught between his teeth. 

Harry can vaguely hear Zayn continue to speak above, but it's all static noise, it doesn’t matter. He wraps a hand around the base and looks up at Louis as he takes the head into his mouth. And. And it's so fucking great because Louis’ breathing is going laboured and he looks so fidgety, tapping his fingers against the table top out of beat. 

“Yes,” Louis starts, voice breathless. “I’ll - I’ll, send it right - right now, _shit_ ,” he curses when Harry takes more of it into his mouth and hollows his cheeks, blinking as innocently as possible, considering the situation.

“Are you alright, Mr Tomlinson?” Zayn asks and Harry can hear his frown - it urges him on. 

“Fine,” Louis gasps, hand curling around Harry’s hair and pulling. Harry makes the smallest of noises, sounds almost like a purr, and Louis masks it off with a cough. “Just - just got a little cold, ‘s all,” he mutters. “Are you - is that all?” 

“Um,” Zayn starts and Harry wants to know if he can get Louis to come before Zayn goes. He tells himself, of course, and he buries his face deeper, takes more of Louis’ cock into his mouth till the tip brushes the back of his throat. Louis lets out a grunt, something small and insignificant, and Zayn ignores it. “Have you - have you seen Harry anywhere? He’s not outside and he isn’t in here-” Harry smirks, something private and intimate as Louis gently rubs circles into his head, a reminder that he _is_ here - he’s right there. 

“No, yes,” Louis stammers. “He just...I sent him out to buy me, um, grapefruit.”

Harry giggles softly, quietly around Louis’ cock and flutters his eyelashes when Louis glances down. “Grapefruit?” Zayn questions. 

“Uh, yes,” Louis answers, “sorry, uh, is that all?”

“Yes - yes, sorry, yeah. Thank you,” Zayn mutters his way out the door and the second it closes, Louis comes hot and fast down Harry’s throat, a groan leaving his mouth. 

Harry takes it all, lets the come dribble down his throat as he gets up to crawl up to Louis’ lap. “Grapefruit?”

“Sorry. It's hard to come up with excuses for you while I’ve got my cock in your mouth,” Louis retorts, head falling back to rest on the headrest as Harry’s drops little kisses on his neck, tucking his face in after a second, purring like a kitten. 

“You don’t need it,” he says and when Louis looks up in curiosity, Harry swipes the bit of come that’s landed around his cheek with his thumb. “The fruit,” he explains, pressing his thumb into his mouth to lick the come, eyes locked on Louis’, “you’re sweet enough.”

-

When Harry picks up the call one Friday afternoon, Louis is on the other end, a bright smile to his voice that Harry can clearly imagine. “Harry!” he says, so bright that Harry replies with a, “Louis!”

Louis chuckles, sounds so laid back and free, and Harry thinks he likes him most like this. Even without having to look at him, he likes the glint he can just imagine by his eyes. “Whats up?” Harry asks.

“Stay back tonight,” Louis says, softly, a gentle lilt to his voice when Harry’s thinking of the opposite. 

“Why?” he asks, getting excited. “Are we going back to your place again?” He’s been once and he’s fallen in love with the place. It isn’t as big or gracious as he’d expected, rather comfortable. Louis’ flat has got wooden floors and soft carpets, a sofa that has blankets draped all over and a bookshelf that has books overflowing, looking like treasure falling off a chest. It's beautiful because Harry’s been fucked against that bookshelf, breathy gasps as Louis holds him by his thighs, his panties shoved into his mouth. 

“No,” Louis smiles, but then, “well, yes, but later. I want to take you out to dinner.”

Harry smiles even wider. “Dinner?”

“Yup.”

“Well ask me, then,” Harry insists, pulling himself up to his desk to rest his elbows on the table, fingers twirling around the cable like a schoolgirl getting called by her crush for the first time. 

“Ask you?” Louis says.

“Yes, ask me,” Harry smiles, a little frustrated when it's all an act. “To dinner you idiot, ask me to dinner.”

“Fine,” Louis says, letting the insult go. “Harry Styles, will you go out to dinner with me?”

Harry thinks of saying no, just for the fun of it, but he can’t. He’s too fluttery, feels too happy, and he knows Louis already knows his answer. He’s probably made reservations already. “Yes,” he says softly, surely, and then, “I like Thai food.” Just because.

“I know,” Louis smiles. “I asked Zayn and everything.”

-

The thing about the lunchroom was that it was really very noisy, but only when it was full, and it was never really full. Half empty like glasses and dreams, Harry thinks wow, I want to ride my boss right here, right now, in the little gap beside the fridge. He thinks this while making tea. 

He calls him, knows he’s probably a little busy since it wasn’t even closet to lunch yet, but goes on anyway. Louis sounds surprised when he picks up. “Harry?”

“Come to the lunchroom. Right now,” he says. It's a little whiny because he can never be stern with Louis. And he knows he doesn’t have to be - with one sway of the hips, he could have Louis on his knees and the fact that he didn’t even need to do it was amazing - made Harry feel smug. 

“Why-”

“Please. Thank you, bye,” he says before hanging up. It's risky - definitely risky because anyone could come in at any second but - but that's what made Harry’s heart rush, made him feel giddy, made his cock twitch. He looks around, makes sure no one’s coming in,before sliding into the little gap between the fridge and and the counter where a chair sits. He steps out of his trousers and shirt - if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do this right. With delicate white stockings and clean, snow undies to match. He wasn’t lying about investing on lingerie and Louis’ gifts didn’t stop on the lace. 

He hears footsteps just by the door and when he peaks out, he sees Louis by the door, looking exasperated, hair a little messy and his suit looking prim and dashing. Harry grins. “Lou!” he whispers and when Louis turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised, that look of shock on his face whenever Harry dresses up for him, Harry crooks his first finger and beckons Louis closer.

“Harry-” Louis starts, reaching for his hip, a natural instinct, but Harry’s not quite having it. He feels like he wants to take charge, feels a little reckless because this was a little reckless, so he puts one finger up to his lips, shushes Louis, then grips him closer by his shoulder, turns them around and pushes Louis down onto the chair with hoof. Louis’ eyes don’t leave Harry’s face for a second and even when he’s sat down, one hand tries to creep closer to the white material around Harry’s legs, looking young and pouty when Harry shakes his head no and dodges out of his hold.

“I want to be in charge,” he says slowly, carefully, hands limp by his sides as he looks down at Louis till Louis is nothing but a nodding head, his hands clenching to fists that stay by his side, restricting. 

He smiles at it, tucks a stray curl behind his ear before he brings the the packet of lube and condom out of where it's tucked beside his hip, caught inside the panties. He balances the condom packet on the counter beside them, but he opens the lube packet himself, squeezing half the packet out over two fingers, walking till he’s pressed into the chair, Louis staring up at him in what must be some soft kind of awe, as if he’s a goddess, bringing down hearts and bringing down stars. 

“Stop staring,” he mutters, smiling, “it's rude.” That's all Louis gets before Harry’s sitting down on his lap, legs folding beside Louis’ thighs. Harry grinds down once, twice, just to feel Louis’ suit because he’s always had a thing for Louis’ suit, before he twists his fingers behind and nudges them around till the first one slides past his rim. He bites his lip to stop too much sound because it's risky enough, but when he pushes the first finger in, he can’t help but sigh. It's a lovely, delicate sound. Makes him flutter his eyes closed as Louis holds him tight, keeps him from falling. 

He works in another finger and with every passing hushed moan, he can feel Louis get harder beneath him and it's fucking great. It's so good and Harry thinks, I’ve got to do this more often, as he opens himself up with the two fingers, forcing himself to only brush his prostate every other minute. 

He must’ve been rushing because Louis brings a hand up to hold gently onto Harry’s side, right around his love handles, massaging the skin. “Slow down, love,” he mutters and it's so weird because it's a public place and the last thing they should be is slow, but it's also weird because Louis looks at him with such fondness, touches his skin with such sincerity that Harry does slow down. Not for himself, but just so he can level his eyes with Louis, to watch him smile softly up at him. And - and suddenly, it's not about riding Louis anymore. Suddenly, it's about trusting him and Louis trusting back and it's serious and Harry slows down. Breathes. 

Louis runs a hand past his ribcage, presses down on the skin to feel it flutter and Harry stares right at him as he rides his fingers, opening himself carefully. When it feels like enough, like his cock is getting too hard, he takes his fingers out, biting his lip to keep from mewling, and he untucks Louis’ stiff prick from his trousers. “I’m gonna ride you,” he mumbles, getting close to Louis’ face to mumble against his lips. “That alright?”

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis says, gasping, looking at Harry like he holds the stars. “Fuck, of course, baby.” And then Louis’ pulling him up, resting both of his hands on the back of Harry’s thighs to nudge him up until his cock is pressing into Louis’ chest and Louis’ cock is rubbing against his inner thighs. 

“No,” Harry says when one of Louis’ hands go to spread his cheeks, “slow. Let me...” he places his hands on top of Louis’ and grips on tightly. “Let me do it,” and then he’s lifting himself up, one hand going round to grab the lube to spurt the remaining liquid all over Louis’ cock, and he’s slinking down, Louis’ cock sliding swiftly into Harry’s ring of muscle as he takes it in inch by inch till he feels full and tight, muscles straining. He opens his mouth and silent sounds come out of his lips as he tucks his face into Louis’ neck, sitting completely on Louis’ lap. 

He stays still for a minute, lets himself adjust to the stretch as Louis runs a hand up and down his back, stopping to massage the knobs of his spine, to write down poems with his fingers. It feels private, like a confidential secret kept between the two and in some ways, it is. Harry isn’t planning on telling anyone he rode his boss in the office lunchroom.

“Are you alright, baby?” Louis asks, kissing Harry’s neck softly, buttering the pecks on as if to mesh them into the skin. “Ready to move?” 

Harry doesn’t respond, instead, he takes a deep breath and lifts himself up, eyes closed. He moves up till he can feel the head almost slipping out, but right before, he slinks back down, a bounce in his movements that remains youthful. “Fuck,” he groans, head falling back as he gets used to the size. 

With his neck all exposed, head lolling back, he looks beautiful. Absolutely tender, wrecked even, in the heaviness of the room. He feels like a secret, feels like a promise, something warm and vulnerable, opening himself up for one person to taste. Louis leans in, heart swelling like wounds, and runs his dry lips all over the skin he can reach, feeling Harry’s pulse and sweat under his touch. 

It's tight, on Harry’s skin and around Louis’ cock, and Harry’s trying so, so hard to get it in the angle he wants, but it's not happening. He moves a little faster, takes Louis’ cock then slides right off it. It feels smooth and honest and as Louis pulls him in closer, trapping Harry’s leaking cock between their bodies, it feels right. Harry makes soft noises and Louis presses little grunts into his curves and it's right because it's wrong, because it's them and because it's _them_. 

“Lou-” Harry pants, “Louis I need- I can’t-” He tips his head back to face Louis, grasping at his shoulders, fingers sharp. He watches Louis nod once and then there are hands helping him, one around his hip to lift him up easier and one still heavily on his back, comforting. 

“C’mon, baby,” Louis mutters, “I know you can take. You’re doing so well, being so good for me.” Harry shakes involuntarily in response, lips flailing, reaching forward to touch any inch of Louis’ skin - all of Louis’ skin. He mouthes around Louis’ neck, around the pulse, not biting, just tasting. And when he lifts himself up again, he watches Louis look at him when he slinks back down, moaning high on his throat in effort. 

And then it becomes a mission, he becomes stubborn. Because he loves the way Louis’ eyes go so dark when he moves, loves it when Louis grabs at his satin covered bum because it's for him - all for Louis and Louis loves it. He bounces up, the sting becoming a blurry ache in the back of his mind, and when he shifts a little, nudging around Louis’ lap, the tip of Louis’ cock brushes once, very gently, over exactly where Harry wants it and it's just so, so good. 

“Fuck,” Harry cries.“Yes, fuck, Louis.” And Louis gets it because just as Harry goes down once more, he fucks up to him, hips lifting up from the chair and Harry gasps, a little “oh” falling from lips like snow from the ceiling. “Again,” he whispers, he demands because he’s in charge, “do that again. C’mon, fuck me,” and even though Louis is starting to fuck him, rolling his hips up to thrive into Harry’s warm, wet hole, it feels like Harry’s the one all around him. Because Harry touches him sweet and tender, but his mouth and words are dirty. Because Harry looks obscene in his stockings and panties, and Louis is so in over his head that it's _crazy_. He’s so fucking fond of the boy that has stars and glitter in his eyes and Harry loves it. 

He loves it because Louis listens and he loves it because Louis grips onto the gifts he bought for him. He loves it because he’s told Fred he can’t go to dinner with him because he’s seeing someone and he loves it because Louis’ just hit his prostate again and he’s going to come. 

“Louis!” he whimpers, “Louis, I’m gonna come - I’m-” There is noise outside but it feels like a memory from childhood, warm and soft over the edges and Harry can’t even hear, doesn’t even remember the people outside when he’s in here. 

“Yes,” Louis mutters, his hips aching and his movements out of balance. “Fuck, yes, come on baby, come. All over yourself, you’re so lovely. You’re so lovely, Harry.” And Harry comes, with one last bounce, he comes thickly over his stomach. He feels Louis fuck up into him once, twice, till he’s coming too and then they’re just sat there, Louis on the chair, Harry on Louis, and it's warm and quiet, just silent breathing all over the place, and Harry swallows, face tucked into Louis’ sweaty neck, his body heavy. Louis has gone soft inside him and he’s sticky everywhere and they need to stop fucking in the office because they always end up making a mess, but it's also wonderful. Makes Harry giggle at the thought.

“What’re you laughing about?” Louis mumbles, a hand coming up to thread through his hair. Harry just shakes his head, pressing kisses all over Louis’ neck because he _could_ and because he _wants_ to. 

“We’re absolutely insane, you know that?” Harry mutters, slowly blinking out of his little pocket, a hand coming up to massage at Louis’ stubble. “We just fucked in the lunchroom, oh my god,” he giggles right into Louis’ face, lets the noise get lost between Louis’ eyelashes and skin. 

“Hey,” Louis huffs. “If I remember correctly, this was _your_ idea.” He’s like a little lion, Harry thinks, so sharp yet so small. Harry wants to kiss him all over his face and when he realizes he can, he does. Gentle nibbles, the brushing of his lips, over Louis’ jaw and along his cheekbone. Louis laughs loudly.

“What are you doing?” he questions, pressing his hands into Harry’s sides to keep him steady.

“ _You’re a lion,_ ” Harry sings softly, smiling at himself. “ _In your own way,_ ” he can hear Louis laugh louder at him, but he just shakes his head, mouthes at Louis’ nose. “ _Be a lion.”_ He gives in then, laughing with Louis into his mouth. “It's a good song,” he argues. “And a good musical, stop laughing.”

“Okay, Dorothy,” Louis giggles, sounding like a child. “You stop laughing, too, then.”

“Okay,” Harry says, biting his lips. “Lets go. We’ve got work to do and you can’t be slacking off,” he moves to get Louis’ cock out of him and he winces slightly when he does, his hole oversensitive. He reaches for Louis’ hand and he lets Louis slip his trousers back on for him, past his legs and thighs, hands lingering till Harry swats them away. 

Louis walks over to the sink, grabs a washcloth and lets it get wet under running water. He brings it to Harry with a small, knowing smile and Harry mutters “thank you,” when Louis wipes his chest clean of his come. As they walk with distance back to their table and office, Harry passes Zayn with a wink because he thinks _I wanted my boss between my legs and I got a boyfriend whose touch linger beneath my skin._

-

Harry thinks riding Louis shouldn’t become a thing, but it's definitely become a thing because two weeks later, they’re at Louis’ flat and Harry’s bouncing on Louis’ lap with nothing but Louis’ Rover’s jersey on. And while he screams as loud as he wants because it's not a lunchroom this time, he thinks of the next time he wants to do this. Maybe back on Louis’ chair, his office door locked, Harry with his favourite pair of deep maroon lace on. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Harry whines with every bounce, Louis’ hands gripping at his arse, cupping the flesh between his fingers. “Fuck! _Daddy_.” Louis flips them over then, movements bumpy, and he fucks into Harry with his eyes shut and his mouth grim. He pins Harry down, keeps him gasping while he fucks in deep and fast and slow all the same. When he walked in after his shower, Harry on the bed wearing just his jersey and his favourite pair of black lace undies, he lost it. There was this spark in his eye and looking at Harry, looking at Harry like he belonged with Louis made him feel like he could take over the world. Instead, he took over Harry, which was kind of the same thing. He whispers “Mine,” into Harry’s lines and bones and he lets the words linger with his marks and bruises so Harry will always know. 

He comes into his condom and Harry squirts all over Louis’ hand and then Louis flops down. His head lands on Harry's chest as he stays between Harry’s legs, breathing heavily into the material of the jersey. Of _his_ jersey that Harry looks so much better in. 

Harry runs a hand over Louis’ hair, lets Louis put his weight all on Harry as he climbs up to rest his chin of tip of Harry’s breastbone. “Hi,” Louis mutters, eyes lidded and Harry can still feel him inside. 

“I didn’t know you played football,” Harry whispers, one fiddling with the hem of the shirt, the other getting lost in Louis’ hair. 

Louis shrugs, peering up at Harry while Harry smiles down at him. “Still do. But, this was quite some time ago.”

“What?” Harry giggles. “Are you super old now?”

“You would know,” Louis grins, kissing down on the shirt.

“Hey,” Harry starts, a different kind of wind in his voice. It's grainy like sand, falling asleep and falling in pieces. “Our age gap is not too bad.”

“It's more than five years,” Louis shrugs. “I’d say daddy is the correct term for me.” He grins wickedly and Harry groans, throwing his head back and shoving Louis away from him. But he loves it, really. Loves that they’re so comfortable with their kinks, with each other. 

Louis slips out of him, throws his condom away and grabs at the towel on the bedside table, rubbing Harry clean then slipping into bed beside Harry, tugging him in so that it's Harry tucked into his chest this time, his head catching in the crook of Louis’ neck. 

“It's a little confusing sometimes,” Harry say after a while. He wouldn’t know if Louis was awake or not if it wasn’t for Louis’ hand on his back, rubbing circles, soothing him to sleep. “I’m not sure what to call you cause you’re so many different things, y’know?” It's tired words, things that make no sense, but Louis still listens and Harry’s heart bursts when Louis leans down to peck his forehead - or wherever he can reach with Harry tucked around him.

“I’d say,” Louis starts and Harry can feel the smile in his voice. “I’m Mr Tomlinson at work,” he continues, teasingly, brushing his lips across Harry’s curls, making him giggle. “Daddy in bed,” he adds, reaching over to squeeze Harry’s arse. He’s so beautiful, Harry thinks. I’m so fucked, Harry thinks. “And,” Louis continues, smiling, though Harry can’t see it, the darkness of the room feeling like tangible comfort, “Louis in your heart.”

On the day Harry rides Louis with nothing but his jersey on, Harry thinks he falls a little bit, just a fraction of an inch, in love with the Louis in his heart. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the really cheesy ending!!! But, I hope you enjoyed that. Um. Come say hi on my [tumblr](http://www.harryendous.tumblr.com/)!  
> Other than that, thank you for the read ♥♥♥
> 
> \- Crest xx


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